


never as good

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Shameless [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coming Untouched, M/M, Marathon Sex, Marijuana, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-06 23:43:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17354894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Never in the years Castiel has known him, has Dean ever looked more beautiful than in this moment: stretched out on the mattress, flushed red from head to navel, with his mouth pulled into a perpetual moan.





	never as good

Never in the years Castiel has known him, has Dean ever looked more beautiful than in this moment: stretched out on the mattress, flushed red from head to navel, with his mouth pulled into a perpetual moan. Red-rimmed eyes watch the ceiling listlessly, and Castiel can’t help but kiss him once more, reveling in Dean’s warmth, the earthiness of his scent. Clumsily, Dean reaches out for him, hands stroking Castiel’s shoulders, tracing through sweat and scars, nails digging in.

Impossibly, Dean yields even further beneath him, eyes rolling back when Castiel kisses beneath his ear, sucking a purpled mark there. “Gonna kill me like this,” he slurs, languid, and Castiel chuckles, deep in his chest. “Keep fuckin’ me, c’mon.”

“In time,” Castiel assures. Hand to Dean’s jaw, he turns Dean to face him; willingly, Dean goes, smiling into another kiss. “Are you still with me?”

“More than,” Dean laughs, shifting his hips, and— _oh._

Castiel almost forgot, too enrapt in watching Dean’s face contort in every expression of bliss there is. Hands to Dean’s hips, Castiel lifts him until he sinks in deeper, enveloped by scalding warmth—and Dean only moans louder, enthralled in their connection, in the pleasure shared between them. Grip slipping, Dean clutches the sheets, rolling his hips almost on instinct, chasing the heat, the touch.

All of which, Castiel is happy to provide. He leans down for another kiss before he begins to thrust once again, earning a content hum from Dean and a clenching pressure around his cock. Leisurely, Castiel keeps him there, on the edge of rapture as they move, two bodies entwined in the night, holding onto whatever bare skin they can find. Said skin, Castiel clings to, fingertips bruising the meat of Dean’s thighs, thumb dipping into the curve of his hip bone.

The sounds Dean makes, Castiel cherishes each one, categorizes them by frequency and fervency. The faster he moves, the more intense Dean gets, moans growing more desperate, verging on reckless. Slower, though, Dean enjoys more—here, he pants and grapples, his body an instrument of pure desire. Writhing, cursing, begging for it deeper—Castiel wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I should have you like this more often,” Castiel says, hoisting one of Dean’s legs higher, a hand cupping the underside of his knee. Dean just goes with him, lower lip between his teeth as they grind. “Uninhibited, wanton. Begging for my cock.”

“Fuck,” Dean cries out and comes, for the fifth time. His body spasms in ecstasy, abs tightening, thighs trembling under Castiel’s touch. No pain, though; that, Castiel makes sure of. “Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he repeats, almost as a mantra, ass flexing while Castiel continues to thrust. Not for his own pleasure, no—Dean likes it like this, strung out and over-sensitive, on the edge of shattering. Sucking in breath after breath, he takes Castiel’s wrist, sucking his fingers and splitting two with his tongue.

By the sheer power of his grace, Castiel keeps himself calm, resists the urge to defile Dean even further. And by God, he _wants_.

Dean’s cock twitches between his legs, still hard and leaking profusely. Lucid, Dean would never be this wet, would never let him get this far, go this long—here, soaring, twin cigarettes burning in an ashtray, Dean drags him down for a kiss, lust on his tongue. “Take a drag,” Dean says, verging on a question. Castiel declines, distracting him with another kiss; one of them has to be sane here, and if someone decides to barge in, Castiel can always remove the effects, anyway. Like this, naked in every sense of the word, Dean trusts him—with his life, his body, his soul.

One hand slips away from Castiel’s skin, only to return mid-kiss, fingers pressed against his lips. Castiel takes them in, tasting Dean’s spend on his tongue, warm and thick. “Too good,” Dean says as Castiel pulls away, eyes fluttering. “You should come, c’mon. Know you’re hard for me.”

 _I am_ , Castiel thinks, planting his knees into the mattress. With little effort, he takes Dean behind the knees and spreads him open, wide in a way Dean secretly loves, especially like this. This time, when he speeds up, Dean meets him thrust for thrust, leaning back on one elbow, his free hand stroking wet paths down Castiel’s chest. Muscles flex; Dean’s toes curl, mouth dropping open, the picture of sin. If only Castiel could keep him like this, raptured and moaning, no matter who hears.

This time when Dean comes, chest deflating and body pulled taut, Castiel follows, head thrown back. Whether Dean notices his wings unfurling from his back, Castiel doesn’t think to look, not when pure euphoria spreads through him, coursing into everything he touches. Namely, Dean’s legs, flesh yielding, begging for more. Castiel feels Dean’s subsequent orgasm more than hears it, Dean’s pleasure little more than a whimper and a breath, before he collapses in a heap.

Pillows rustle; sheets shuffle. Regretfully, Castiel pulls out, only to sprawl out at Dean’s side, enveloping him in the shadow of his wings. Cock still hard, he ruts in the space between Dean’s legs, and Dean practically purrs, holding him there, pressing his thighs together tighter. “Don’t want this to wear off,” he mutters. Castiel kisses his jaw, earning a grin. “Seriously, ain’t been this good in a while.”

“Next time,” Castiel says, stroking over Dean’s stomach and resting a hand there, out of the way of his cock, “I’ll show you how good it can be, without drugs.”

“Always gonna be good with you,” Dean says, heartfelt. “Pot ain’t gonna change that.”

Castiel feels himself bloom with those words, wings surrounding them both. Possessive, he realizes—Dean will always be his, no matter what comes their way. And sincerely, Castiel hopes, that Dean feels the same. Based on his kiss, though, Castiel doesn’t have to wonder—not any longer.  

**Author's Note:**

> So uh, I finished my book? And I meant to start back on another draft but instead this came out. So, think of this as a thank you for all of your wonderful comments recently! I promise I read and love them all, I just suck at replying to things ;A;
> 
> Title is from the Sade song, "Never As Good As The First Time"
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
